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The Bottom Shelf Review Wilson College Spring 2014 Edited by Kimberly Maske-Mertz & Jamie McCauley And as imagination bodies forth The forms of things unknown, the poet’s pen Turns them to shapes and gives to airy nothing A local habitation and a name. - William Shakespeare (from A Midsummer Night’s Dream) Table of Contents Short Stories “I Need Another Story” by Alexandre Collette 3 “A Lover’s Affair” by Aly Rice 7 “Puppet on a String” by Caitlyn Minelli 11 “No Place Like Hell” by Caitlyn Minelli 13 “Creation” by Casey Beidel 20 “Guardian” by Jenna Kauffman 22 “A Real Ghost’s Story” by Jennifer Dodds 29 “So Cold, So Dark, Melissa Collins” by Jennifer Liggett 40 “Predator” by Lydia Grove 44 “Falling” by Mallory Sunderland 47 “Midnight Clear” by Marybeth Richards 52 “Three Buzzes” by Nicole Zuleger 57 “Washing Harleys Ain’t Always Good” by Anonymous 60 “Drifting Through Life” by Stephanie Walker 62 Poems “Smitten Jo” by Alexandre Collette 74 “A Cup and Two Packs” by Alexandre Collette 78 “Feline Pal” by Alexis Ankro “The Life of Man and Wildfl ower” by Cherish Noel Brown 79 “A Death Has Occurred” by Francesca Giustini 80 “Books Never Read” by Francesca Giustini “Sheen Heard Some Voices” by Francesca Giustini “The Misfi ts” by Katie Lacko 82 “The Devil of the Seas” by Melanie Przybilski “Limericks” by Jenna Kauffman “Cold” by Marissa Feldberg 83 “Fickle with Flowers” by Nicole Zuleger “Memoirs of a Caged King” by Megan Schaeffer 84 “Trela Rebma” by Megan Schaeffer 85 “The Moon’s Love” by Nicole Zuleger 86 “To David: Love, Goliath of Goth” by Michael G. Cornelius 87 “Damn Door” by Nicole Bodulow 88 “Be a Man” by Patrick Fox “Youth” by Patrick Fox 89 “Adventure” by Patrick Fox “The White Dress” by Jamie L. McCauley “A Banshee’s Cry” by Jamie L. McCauley 90 “pick-pocket prince” by Jamie L. McCauley Short Stories I Need Another Story By Alexandre Collette 3 I was born an adult. The lullabies never existed. Secrets were memorized nursery rhymes. They hummed in my searching eyes. Picture books were what I saw when I closed my eyes and saw life as it is; darkness and obscene colors fl ashing by. I will blink for the rest of my life. Each time I will be reminded. None will ever understand. My shapeless body ran the streets barefoot. Our clothes made us different. You wore blue jeans and I wore purple shorts. We were just alike. Our veins shared the same blood. I climbed faster than he did. I was always on top fi rst. His shapeless body climbed after me. I had been the better even though I was smaller in the same shape- less size. We were always in competition. We were too young to remember our bodies being the same. Before the sun burned freckles into our faces, our shapeless bodies, mine smaller, raced everywhere. It was our muse. I smiled into his eyes. He was my favorite. Before he touched him, we were equal. We were inseparable. I was just like him. My legs dangled beneath me. They were bare beneath my clothes. My feet stuck out bare. My hands stuck out bare. My face wasn’t bare at all. I stared into your eyes. His clasp was strong and tight. You wanted to see me cry. His anger poured into his fi ngers. I felt the anger inside him. It was holding me up at his level. I stared into his eyes, his anger, and his future. He wanted me to give in. I held my breath, just as this happened many times be- fore, this time I was ready. I will not give in my eyes repeated. Bearing through his anger, my hands were clutched on the wall I hung. The sweat in my hands was red. I held the sweat perfectly still. Only one drop escaped. The wall wouldn’t know what the fl oor felt. The wall was helping him. It was helping me. It was his support. It was my breath. It was a portrait of raging stillness. His body framed me in. The anger punctuated the picture. The colors were the only witnesses. They were perforated with rage. My own rage inside remained still; unable to come out. The breath remained still. His muse, me, his contest, was my anger. His arm gave in, I won. My bare feet gave in. I fell to my knees. I was pleased that I had won. I bore hatred of myself. I wished to be like him. Like a man. He is not a man. I am. I didn’t win, he did. He knew that. I was on my knees as he walked away in his shoes. The colors went away. My face became bare again. I wiped the sweat from my hands. The streak would remain. I was playing on the fence. My hands were caught. That’s why. My head hurt. It screamed inside for air. I breathed heavily until my heart told me it was okay and my legs regained its strength. His body was forming. Mine stayed the same shapelessness. He was different. We were no longer equal. This wasn’t the fi rst time. He didn’t make it the last. He will forget this. My muse, my frog, did whatever I pleased. He was my puppet. He made me laugh; I forced his face, his hands, and his body to shapes that brought happiness like I didn’t know anywhere else. My puppet and my happi- ness went with me wherever I went. It was my own. Her laugh at my puppet made me smile. Her laugh, my best friend, made me smile. She talked to my frog in the sweetest voice. Her angelic voice to the frog that I mangled funny with my own hand pleased my senses. Her blue eyes made me watch her every move. She was my best friend. How pretty she was. I wished to be like her. She was perfect in my eyes. I was perfect too; a perfect example of what not to be and what not to look like. I would do anything she pleased, she made me smile. She was my best friend. I became her protection. She will never suffer in front of me. Together, we grew up apart. She loved me and I liked her. As best friends, we were nothing alike. I suffo- cated in her love. I played what she wished. You have pretty dolls; I will dress them for you. I will dress them as if I was dressing you. The dolls became sick in my hands; they became tainted with my thoughts. Their painted smiles were stuck. I manipulated them in front of her, this pleased my best friend. In my pants I sat awkward, it was comfortable. She was faultless in her purple dress. I wore that dress. It was mine before her. It was made for me but suited her best. The disdain for these dolls was kept hidden from her. She will keep me alive. I survived in her. She will never know. Everyone said how beautiful she was and how sweet her voice. I showed her off to everyone. She was my doll. When my best friend wasn’t there, I became someone else. I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t fast. I wasn’t her protection. I hated her dolls. We fought for everything. I held fast to my strength. He held fast to his anger. His anger put on my face. I wouldn’t recoil as he wished. He wanted to see himself in me. My back was against the door pushing it with my bare feet and bare hands sliding in against the sweat. He was standing over me. He was on the other side. The door was nimble. It bended with his strength. The door curved over me; the handle just above my 4 watchful eye. I saw myself in its gold refl ection. The refl ection angered me. It revealed my fear no one could see. My anger remained still as the door handle quivered above me. I felt his anger in the door. My body was shaking holding the fl oor down. If I get up quickly, he will fall. He will fall. He trained me well. I braced myself for a quick recovery. He fell into me. I failed. My still shapeless body failed me. I hated her dolls. My eyes were up at your level. You wanted to see me cry. I stared into his eyes as we played war. The window pane shattered. The bare sun came through the broken pane. No one heard it. No one cared. We were playing war. I spit a streak onto the fl oor. I stood there as he left me. I fell from the tree. A rock is next to the window. My cheek will heal. The tooth will come out naturally; naturally bruised. My brother left. He left! I am the brother now. I am the protector. My sister’s dolls are safe. I will grow to like them. She will know nothing. I made her run the forest with me. I taught them to be fast. They were too young to know why I thought this was fun. My girls saw me as their leader, their protector. I needed them to protect me. They would never know. I took revenge with my love. They would know nothing else. My eyes never rested watch- ing them. I made sure only the stars watched them as they slept.
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